Brandi Must Die: The Next Great American Novel, #1

By James Victory

Finding love is hard in your 30s: it's that awkward time between the pre-marriage, bang 'em all 20's and the post-divorce, bang 'em all again 40's. This book is about one man's mission to meet "the one" or die trying… or she might even die, who knows?

 

Did Bukowski and Hunter S. Thompson have a love child? Maybe they did… It was this book. I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it.

The book features artwork from the author himself. Don't worry… His writing is much better than his drawing!

 

Trigger Warning #1: If you're an SJW, fascist, or Republican, you will not like this book, put it down! 

 

Trigger Warning #2: You will be offended at some point: I make ethnic jokes, my sense of humor is patently absurd, I use harsh language, and at times, I'm somewhat critical of the fairer sex. If this bothers you, go cry by yourself… Do not Tweet like a Donald Trump wannabe.

• Language: English
• Publisher: ACG Publishing
• Release date: Jan 29, 2024
• ISBN: 9798223718055

Book preview

Brandi Must Die

  James Victory

DEDICATION

Dedicated to Jamie and Phil, but not their drunk friend…

LEGALITIES

The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.

Cover design by: James Victory

Library of Congress Control Number: TBD

Printed in the United States of America

Copyright © 2024 ACG Publishing

All rights reserved.

ISBN: 9798877758704

Copyright © 2024 ACG Publishing All rights reserved

TABLE OF CONTENTS

HO-LOGUE

PELE’S OTHER CURSE

JACK LONDON

TEXAS IS THE OPPOSITE OF GAY

THE NOVEL WITHIN A NOVEL

WAS SHE A TRANNY?

JIM & GUILL VS THE APOCALYPSE

THE JUNKIE

TO MECCA WE RIDE!

AMERICAN ROMEO & JULIET

HELP! I ACCIDENTALLY KILLED TWO LESBIANS

AMERICANS DON’T UNDERSTAND ROMEO & JULIET

THE ‘ABUSIVE’ TURK

SEXILOGUE

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

HO-LOGUE

Finding love is hard in your 30s: it’s that awkward time between the pre-marriage, bang ‘em all 20’s and the post-divorce, bang ‘em all again 40’s. This book is about one man’s mission to meet the one or die trying… or she might even die, who knows?

Did Bukowski and Hunter S. Thompson have a love child? Maybe they did… It was this book. I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it.

The book features artwork from the author himself. Don’t worry… His writing is much better than his drawing!

Trigger Warning #1: If you’re an SJW, fascist, or Republican, you will not like this book, put it down!

Trigger Warning #2: You will be offended at some point: I make ethnic jokes, my sense of humor is patently absurd, I use harsh language, and at times, I’m somewhat critical of the fairer sex. If this bothers you, go cry by yourself… Do not Tweet like a Donald Trump wannabe.

Trigger Warning #3: Sometimes I use gender-specific slurs as terms of endearment, it’s part of my charm, ya-cunts’ya!

Chapter 1

PELE’S OTHER CURSE

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Ineeded to sleep with at least 27 women to get the sour taste of Jany not sleeping with me out of my mouth, and quickly. My trip to Hawaii yielded only bitter fruit, and I was on my first flight back to the mainland, tasting that bitterness in my soul. Jany had burrowed so far into my heart, soul, and brain, that I needed to replace the loss.

The goal was simple: pull off what Beavis and Butthead couldn’t… Score! And score big. The only problem? The plane from Maui to Honolulu was on fire and abruptly speeding towards Earth. At 30 seconds from impact, I was powerless to save myself or the plane full of people, and we were about to die a vicious, fiery death.

 Stewardesses screamed in abject horror as both jet engines caught fire and spewed thick, black smoke into the air. 

I only have 30 seconds to tell you this story before the plane crashes, I said to the 11-year-old Filipino boy sitting next to me, So, I’ll get to the point: I thought Hawaii and falling in love were gonna be fun. They weren’t.

The Filipino boy didn’t speak a word of English. Hawaiian Airlines had saddled me with a young scribe whose mother tongue was incompatible with mine: typical Hawaii bullshit.  For a man with a job in logistics, Hawaii was the worst place in the entire world. Luckily, I only had 30 seconds to live… 29-and-a-half to be exact. I continued my story…

I spent 144 hours on Maui, I said to the boy, Fuck that place.

He gave me two thumbs up, grinning ear to ear, and smiled, not understanding a word I was saying.

I spent all week slaying dragons, second-hand witnessing a live decapitation, and facing Pele’s ‘other curse!’ I screamed over the mele of the crashing plane, But, don’t worry, we’ll get to that!

Even if I survived the crashing plane, the trip back to Texas would be another 12 hours on various connecting flights with nothing to do but hang out with myself… and I fucking hated myself.

 25 seconds. The ground was coming at me with a ferocity and speed rivaled only by the male orgasm.

Six days prior, I met a girl named Jany. I was picking up lunch with my friend Nirvana, a Hawaiian native just shy of his 21st birthday. I’d gone to Maui to help launch a traveling magic show for an old boss. He left Los Angeles in disillusionment and moved to Maui; he was Nirvana’s stepdad.

Nirvana looked like a Samoan Kurt Cobain: skinny as a rail, a head or two taller than me, and long, brown hair down to his shoulders.

We’d picked up some supplies for the magic show at Maui’s only Target and were on our way to lunch. We hopped into the white Ford Mustang I’d rented on impulse and proceeded to drive exactly… 35 miles per hour down Maui’s only major highway.

Tired of working for my dad yet? he asked.

Never!

How do you like Maui?

It sucks! And the speed limits are ridiculous.

Dude, nobody drives the speed limit, except clowns and Haoles.

I’m both! Is there a lunch joint that’s not gonna charge us 28 dollars for a half-assed sandwich?

I know a place.

45 minutes later, we completed our 5-mile trek to the Tiki Lounge Cafe & Grill, a Maui dive bar, and the only place on the island besides McDonald's that stayed open past 9 PM. The most beautiful woman I’d ever seen suddenly appeared.

Jany was a Thai girl with a 27-letter last name. An equal number of tattoos were strewn decoratively across her upper body, Can I help you boys?

Hawaii was a blue state, but not a fun one, so we were all wearing face masks, even though it was 2022. Even with half her face covered, she was enchanting.

We came for lunch! I exclaimed, too much excitement in my voice, Are you gonna sell me a shitty, overpriced sandwich?

She giggled, Not really our style.

Where are all the tikis? I asked.

Bro, shut up and order, Nirvana interjected.

Jany laughed, No tiki’s here at the Tiki Lounge, I guess.

She took our order and then disappeared into the bar. It took 30 minutes to make our food. We were late, and Nirvana’s dad, my boss, was going to be pissed. We ran back to the Mustang, hit the gas, and drove exactly… 35 miles per hour to the resort that was hosting the magic show. The 5-mile trek took exactly… 45 minutes.

Where the fuck have you two been? Nirvana’s dad asked.

Hawaii bullshit, I responded.

He seemed to understand and simply nodded. It was opening night, and he was stressed. Meanwhile, I couldn’t stop thinking about Jany.

20 seconds. Back on the first plane home, the ground was getting closer, and the 747 was in no position to pull out. The prior 6 days’ events continued to flash before my eyes as we neared certain death.

Maybe my boss was right! I hollered at the boy over the rumbling of the crashing plane, The street team was a bad idea.

The Filipino boy grinned ear-to-ear and nodded.

Are you gonna take notes, or what?! I screamed.

 The boy kept smiling like a Cheshire Cat and made no effort to write anything down. He didn’t even have a notebook… Or a pen. Oh well…

The day after opening night, I came up with the brilliant idea to start a street marketing team on Maui to promote the magic show. The concept was simple: get hot chicks to give out fliers to tourists. I wanted Jany on the team. That night, I picked up Nirvana in the Mustang and headed back to the Tiki Lounge.

Back for more? Jany asked.

Couldn’t get enough of those tikis that don’t exist.

She giggled, C’mere, I have a table for you.

She sat us in the corner, and I gave her my pitch. 

That sounds so fun! she exclaimed, I’d love to!

I gave Jany a bunch of fliers, added her to the guest list for the next day’s show, and left with a crush. Nirvana and I got back into the Mustang, ready to cruise the empty streets of Maui at… 35 miles per hour.

She was into you, he said, You should date her! You should move out here, make her your girlfriend, and then have one girlfriend on every island.

The magic in Nirvana’s voice had me picturing a future on Maui: driving 35 miles per hour in a muscle car, taking 45 minutes to travel a mere 5 miles, going to 6 different big box stores to find basic goods sold at a 300% markup, but also frolicking on the beach with a hot Thai girlfriend with a 29-letter last name.

We drove around all night, laughing like teenagers, and eventually ended up back at the hotel hosting our show. We wandered through the lobby and out back to the beach. As the waves crashed onto the shore, I noticed a giant white rock and picked it up.

Put that down! Nirvana screamed, smacking the rock out of my hand, That’s dead coral!

So what?

Pele’s curse!

What’s that? 

It’s bad luck to take anything from the Islands back to the mainland. People, have fucked up their entire lives!

Are you serious?

Dead serious! Hawaii has a government department that repatriates shit tourists took home and sent back because their lives got fucked up.

A few hours earlier… a Kumu (traditional Hawaiian Priest) had performed a blessing at our magic show. The entire energy of the room shifted when he invited the Island Spirits to be with us. So, I decided to leave the dead coral where it was.

Then, as if by magic, an irate security guard appeared and kicked us off the beach. We went back in the Mustang and bullshitted for a while. By 2 AM, we were tired and hungry. Nirvana wanted to drive, so we kicked it into high gear and headed to the local 24-hour grocery store at roughly… 35 miles per hour. The 5-mile trek took exactly… 45 minutes.

The fuck’s with the prices here? I asked, perusing the aisles at Vons.

Hawaii bullshit, Nirvana replied.

Milk’s $8 a gallon?

Everything’s triple what you’d pay on the mainland.

How do people live?

By the skin of their nuts, Dude!

I picked up an $8 package of Cheez-Its and furiously studied the label to see if it had some sort of special vitamins that might have added to the price; nothing special, it was just a regular box of Cheez-Its at triple markup. We bought a few overpriced snacks, climbed back into the Mustang, and headed down the street to the Airbnb where I was staying. 

I’m sleeping over, Nirvana said.

We snuck into my shared condo, hopped into the queen-sized bed, and sat propped against the wall behind us.

What if you married that chick? Nirvana asked.

Then she’d be Jany Nahasapenapentalonagontang-Victory, I said, She’d resent me for adding 7 more letters.

He punched me on the shoulder, She liked you, Brah! I’m jealous!

Give it time, I’ll fuck it up. I always do.

No way! She’s gonna come to the magic show, and then she’ll be doing the street team, and you’ll fall in love, and we can double-date, and…

Let’s not get ahead of ourselves, Kid, let’s just focus on getting head.

By 4 AM, we were delirious with laughter.

Wanna hear about the time I saw someone get decapitated? Nirvana asked.

Of course!

Nirvana’s face grew serious, Our family owned a fudge shop.

Why?

White people like fudge! There was this homeless guy I used to give free stuff to, I called him ‘Uncle.’

How come?

In Hawaii, Auntie and Uncle are terms of endearment for older people.

Oh.

So, I’m working the cash register, bored as fuck, as usual, and in the distance, I see two terrified white tourists running for their fucking lives, clearly high on drugs. They burst into the fudge shop, screaming bloody murder, ‘You have to help us! He’s gonna kill us!’ You know, shit like that.

Damn!

So, the homeless guy bursts into the shop waving a machete, and screams out, ‘I’m going to fucking kill you!’ So, I say, ‘Uncle, what are you doing?’ He looks at me, eyes all glassy and red, and says, ‘They stole 5 dollars!’

Why didn’t they just give the guy his 5 dollars back?

Who knows if the 5 dollars were even real? So, I say, ‘Uncle, put the machete down, I’ll give you 10 dollars, and some fudge.’ He says, ‘Fuck that!’ Draws the machete back and chops the guy’s head three-quarters of the way off. Blood is spewing everywhere like a horror movie, and the tourist falls to the floor, bleeding from the neck like a fire hose.

Fuck!

Yeah! So, then he starts chopping the rest of the guy’s head off on the floor, the machete loudly clanging against the linoleum. The rest of us were screaming bloody murder.

What did you do?

We all ran out the back door, covered in blood, and asked the people in the shop next to us if we could use their phone to call 9-1-1. So, the police showed up, along with an ambulance, and by this time it was 11 PM.

What happened then?

I called my dad, and was like, ‘Dad! What the fuck? What are we gonna do?’

What did he say?

Clean up the blood, and we’ll open for business tomorrow.

We stared at each other seriously for a bit and then burst into laughter. Tears streamed down our faces and snot shot from our noses. Kelly, my Airbnb mate, smacked the wall, Shut the hell up! Both of you!

That’s some Hawaii-ass shit, I whispered.

 15 seconds. Back on the first plane home, its twin jet engines continued to spew smoke into the æther like a violently erupting Hawaiian volcano. Where were those oxygen masks stewardesses and Al-Anons were always talking about? This crash was going to be disastrous.

Jany showed up to the magic show a few days before the crash, but a few after my man-date with Nirvana. She walked in wearing a form-fitting green dress that showed off her legs and tattoos. She wasn’t classically beautiful, but she was attractive in an artsy kind of way. Jany was 5' 5", dark-skinned, and without the mask, had the face